The Hanging Error
by INMH
Summary: Crack, crossover with the Crucible. Don and Maggie Stark during the Salem Witch Trials.


The Hanging Error

Rating: PG-13/T

Genre: General/Humor/Supernatural

Summary: Crack, crossover with the Crucible. Don and Maggie Stark during the Salem Witch Trials.

Author's Note: …I _had_ to do this. I had no choice. Seriously.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural (_damn_). It belongs to Eric Kripke.

()()

Those kids were _brats_.

Donald Stark had to force his face into neutrality rather than the irritable scowl he was dying to direct at the 'afflicted' girls up front; silly, stupid things they were. If one of them happened to look and see his disdain worn openly, they would turn to him and Margaret and accuse them next to fuel the fires of their deadly little game.

They weren't bewitched. He would know: He _was_ one. In this time of suspicion and paranoia and burnings and hangings, Donald and Margaret, his Maggie, were careful about flying below the radar. They used magic when it was necessary- Keeping the crops and animals alive during a bad season, keeping hunters off their tail, etc. Formally they might use a nasty little trick on someone who rubbed them the wrong way, but for the most part they'd been very good.

These girls were idiots. It was obvious they were poking, scratching themselves and each other. They liked the attention like all young girls do, and they certainly weren't accusing each other, now were they? Not like their own loved ones were being sent to prison or the gallows for their fun, so why should they care? Especially about the likes of Sarah Goode and Sarah Osborne, women that- in Don's humble opinion- had never had their eggs all in one basket, so to speak.

Everyone suspected everyone. No one outside of the girls' families, friends or good graces was safe. Though it killed her to do so, Don knew that- for their sake- Maggie had been sucking up to the girls and their families, laying on the sympathy and well-wishes nice and thick. In particular with that little whore Abigail Williams and Reverend Parris; they were the center, the start of all of this.

Don had been a friend of John Proctor's for a while; he had inadvertently stumbled upon one of John's little rendezvous' with Abigail. He'd gone unseen, but with that knowledge alone Don was able to deduce through Abigail's sudden ill-mood and John's stoic guilt that it had been ended, probably by John. It made sense: Elizabeth wasn't the warmest woman in the world, but at least she was sane.

"I should curse him." Maggie had grumbled.

"No you shouldn't." Don had glared at her, making it a command. She looked right back at him with the kind of expression that usually heralded a fight.

"Yes, stick up for your fellow adulterer."

"Maggie, we are _not_ starting on that Medici idiocy again!"

God- You give a woman directions _once_ and suddenly you're an adulterer (Like she could talk: Don had it on good word that Christopher Columbus had been heard _bragging_ about the night he'd spent with Maggie).

But anyway- Maggie had been sucking up to Abigail Williams and the others to assure that she and Don remained unnamed, though the thought openly sickened her. Whilst they could probably escape from prison and even fake their deaths if need be (with the right spells), it was a troublesome idea. They were comfortable in Salem and had given only very little thought to leaving.

Today they were in church. Given their serious witchcraft inclinations they weren't too confident in the existence of God, but in this day and age not showing up to church branded you as a witch faster than casting a spell on someone in plain sight. The girls had special seats up front, so that the _light of God_ would _protect them_ against the _satanic forces that would do them harm_. Sometimes the girls had fits during the sermon, alerting that more accusations would soon follow. Today they were quiet.

No, wait- That was too much to hope for.

Mercy Lewis screeched and everyone jumped, with the exception of Don and Maggie. He could see her, on the women's side; when everyone else turned to look at the girls, they looked at each other and Maggie rolled her eyes; Don's lip quirked upward slightly. The girls' performance had begun, with some of them screaming in fright at the witch that was tormenting Mercy and others trying to comfort her.

As the alarmed clamoring began, the forced expression on Don's face changed from neutrality to concern. God, he almost wished that those girls _would_ have something nasty happen to them for real.

Suddenly, Don felt a slight chill, and his heart may have frozen.

One of the interesting things about Don was that he had married a woman twice as devious and conniving as he was- And that was saying something. Point being, if _he_ thought of, say, witchcraft _actually_ happening to the girls, then there was a pretty good chance that Maggie was two steps ahead of him.

And indeed, when he looked her way, a devilish glint had entered her eyes.

The next yelp of one of the girls- Ruth Putnam- suddenly sounded a lot more realistic, surprised. She leapt from her seat like someone had jabbed her in the behind with something sharp or hot. She turned around, looked down, and the true bewilderment in her eyes gave Don an obscene charge of glee.

Ruth looked around at the other girls and said something inaudible. Abigail's eyes narrowed and she seemed to say "What?" Not half a minute later, Abigail gasped loudly; she then fished a pin (bloody, from the looks of it) from somewhere in the proximity of her- _tender_ regions. Within seconds, the other girls were uttering similar, panicked and confused shouts.

"_Ow!_"

"_Ow!_"

"_Where are they coming from?_"

"_I don't know!_"

Don was dangerously close to laughing. Reverend Parris descended from the pulpit, George Herrick from his seat both of them running to the girls. "What spirit afflicts you? Name it!"

For some reason, the girls weren't so inclined to talking at the moment.

"What do you see? The bird? The tall man from Boston?"

_Oh, I think we can do better than **that**._

Don's whispering wasn't even vaguely audible over the ruckus that had broken out amongst the congregation. A moment later, he- and Maggie and the girls, only them- saw and heard thirteen howling monkeys bouncing around the rafters of the meeting house, screeching and clicking and baring their teeth.

The girls, having never actually _seen_ any monkeys before, immediately lost what remained of their cool. They scattered as the monkeys dropped down on top of them, tearing at their hair and clothing, biting at their skin and clawing at their eyes. The uproar got twice as chaotic as the people saw the (to them) invisible assault taking place and began to flee in terror.

Don quickly rose from his seat and pushed his way into the crowd; not fleeing at the sight of this might indicate certain things to the wrong people. He tried to locate Maggie in the mass, but everything moved too fast and hard for him to see. In moments he was outside; it was cold and wet, having rained that morning. For a moment, Don huffed and puffed and looked around. "Maggie?"

"She's on her way out!" Giles Corey called, waving to Don as he and Martha exited the meeting house. "Caught up in the crowd. Biggest bit of foolishness Salem's ever seen, eh Donald?" Don smiled, but took wary note of the dirty looks shot Giles' way as others heard and processed what he said. That wasn't good- You had to mind every word you said in Salem nowadays, but that was something Giles hadn't learned yet. It would be a shame if he was accused; Don liked the old man.

A tap to the back of his arm and a wicked smile alerted Don to Maggie's return. She grinned with all of the devilish mischief he loved about her. He entwined his arm with his wife's and pulled her along in the direction of their home.

"I love you," He growled into her ear. Maggie grinned.

"Show me."

"Oh, I'll do more than that, darling."

-End


End file.
